


Two Kisses: The “Curse” of the Ground Witch

by deawrites



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Adult Content, De-Aged Sam Winchester, M/M, Mild Language, Protective Dean Winchester, Sibling Incest, Sibling Love, Witchcraft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-26
Updated: 2016-08-26
Packaged: 2018-08-11 02:13:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,229
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7871773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deawrites/pseuds/deawrites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam gets de-aged and Dean has to deal.</p><p>See the squee worthy cuteness of the companion art I commissioned from kamidiox.deviantart.com here: https://www.pinterest.com/pin/329607266462875628/</p>
            </blockquote>





	Two Kisses: The “Curse” of the Ground Witch

**Author's Note:**

> This work was inspired by a segment I read in a fic in this archive that I have been unable to find. After an exhaustive search I contacted AO3’s help desk, and asked if I could post my fic, if I noted what idea I was using from the original author. My request was approved. If anyone reading this is the author or knows who is, PLEASE, PLEASE let me know so I can officially credit you/them properly.
> 
> Original Author’s idea: A two-year-old Sam would put his little, chubby hands on either side of Dean’s face and demand, “Kisses! Kisses!”
> 
> How could I *not* be inspired by that brilliance, I ask you?
> 
> Author Notes: As always comments, criticisms and requests welcome. Thank you for reading!!! Also thanks to my muse my Wife.

TWO KISSES

"Dean!"

 

Sam's voice was distant and distressed, but Dean heard him loud and clear.  Legs pumping furiously, Dean felt like he had never run so fast in his life.  He ignored the ache in his chest cavity as he labored to take deep breaths, and propel himself forward and through the scattering of trees before him, without colliding into them.  It was a rookie mistake the Winchester brother's repeatedly made splitting up like this, and now it had rounded upon them with a vengeance.  They had been chasing a close cousin of the Russian Baba Yaga; a _'ground witch'_. While such creatures frequented Eastern European countries, somehow one had migrated to the United States.  That was Winchester territory and it had become the focal point of the brother hunting duo’s current case.  While no deaths had been reported there were three missing person reports that sprouted up seemingly overnight and in a short span of one another.

 

Dean had lost sight of Sam not two minutes ago. The older Winchester had been thrown spine first into a monster of a tree trunk by the witch. The impact hadn’t done much worse than wind him, or so he first believed. Once he actually attempted moving, he felt a distinct twinge in two of his ribs.  Abruptly his body to bowed in agony, and he gasped breathlessly, shifting hard on his left hip. The forest brush was thick on the ground and cushioned his landing somewhat, though there were all kinds of sharp bits of bark and dried foliage poking into him from all angles, adding insult to injury. Sam hesitated just a split second and looked down at him, accessing his physical state. Dean gazed up at his younger brother and nodded once, catapulting Sam back into the chase.

 

It had been stupid on his part; getting briefly sidelined and sending Sam onward alone.  The ground witch was something they had never hunted before, something that they arrogantly believed they would conquer; and now Dean was panicked that Sam was dead. It was all his fault; Dean would never forgive himself for breaking Hunter's rule one-oh-one: Never lose sight or awareness of your hunting partner.  There would be plenty of opportunity to berate himself later, when Sam was either safe or burned to ashes for burial.

 

"Sammy!"  Dean called out, panting heavily and unconsciously hugging his arm to his left side.  At worst there were hairline fractures etched in two ribs, but he suspected that they were just bruised; either way they would eventually heal.  Right now, his only thoughts were of Sam. He slowed in his charge, abruptly realizing that there was one sound he heard above his breathing and the blooding pounding with in his ears: **_Crying_**.

 

Dean slowed to a fast walk and listened, fighting to calm himself enough from panic, to locate the origin direction of the sound.  Shocked, Dean realized what he heard was a child's pained and frightened howl. Torn between running to Sam and investigating the location of the child, pulsed through him. What if the sound was nothing more than the witch mimicking a human child's cry? What if the witch had abducted a child they didn’t know was missing yet, and was using it as an ingredient to spell casting? What if Sam had also heard the child, gone to investigate, and was laying broken and wounded near it now?

 

Dean grunted and forced himself to run on, taking comfort in the fact that at least the child's cry and Sam's call to him were vaguely in the same direction. He stumbled into a clearing immediately noting the ash wood stake Sam had carried, on the ground before him. The brothers had whittled two of them the previous night, as it was the weapon of choice against this particular witch. Dean scooped up the stake and swallowed, as dread tightened within his stomach. Each of his hands tightened around the wood, and he felt his heart lodge up into his throat.

 

"S-am!" He bellowed, eyes shifting around seeking clues as to what caused Sam to drop his weapon.  Dean heard a low keen and headed down a slight hill and there; seated on the forest floor; was a toddler.  The abrupt presence of the child blew Dean's perception of reality temporarily sideways.  Upon regaining composure in the moment, he slowly walked over toward the child, attempting not to appear overly large and hostile.

 

"Hey there," he said quietly, stooping a little in his stance. The toddler, looked up at Dean with tear filled green, blue eyes, dark hair hanging in his face.  The face; Dean instantly recognized it from seeing it thirty-three years ago: Thirty-three years ago on _Sam_. His gaze instantly took in the clothes the toddler was wearing, all of them an exact, miniature version of what Sam had put on just that morning in their motel room.

 

"Sammy?" Dean crouched down, placed the ash wood stakes upon the ground, and reached out to touch the little boy's face.  An impatient, and fat little hand batted Dean's touch away. The tears started anew, and Dean couldn't help but smile.  "Shh. S'okay. It's me, Baby Boy." He assured reaching out to pick up the toddler. "You're okay."

 

Dean rose and closed his eyes as he pressed his nose to Sam's dark hair and inhaled. **_Sam_** ; there was no denying the scent of him; this was his younger brother Sam. Dean kissed Sammy's forehead, and bounced him a little in his arms. Pressing Sam against his chest, he pushed the small head beneath his chin, and Sam quieted down immediately. Dean wasn't the only one that recognized his brother's smell. Dean felt one little chubby arm reach up around his neck, while Sam put the last two fingers of his opposite hand into his mouth, and suckled on them for comfort.

 

Dean kissed him a few more times and rubbed his back, trying not to be overwhelmed by the adorable, small clothes that Sam was now wearing on his shrunken form. Even his boots were tiny, and Dean held Sam tightly against his chest.  The witch creature was gone. He checked momentarily for a trail, but with the distance they had run to chase her, it would take him quite a bit to walk back to the Impala with his toddling charge.

 

"Come on Sammy. We'll go back to the motel and figure this out, okay?" Sam huffed, as if sighing in a long suffering way, and squirmed a little in Dean's arms. He settled with resting his head against Dean's right shoulder, the hand that had been in his mouth now gripping Dean's outer shirt in tiny, stubby, wet, fingers. Dean kissed him a few more times on the forehead and hair, as he crouched to picked up the discarded stakes and pocketed them in his coat. "Let's go." He urged, before walking back in the direction they had come.

 

Sam tensed when he felt the blast of power explode from the witch's hand. It shattered the wind, so powerful he almost tasted the electric charge in the atmosphere, as it struck Dean full in the chest. His older brother flew backwards several meters into one of the larger trees they passed. The impact had struck Dean like a freight train, and Sam paused to see if Dean was still breathing or merely knocked unconscious. Thankfully, their eyes met and Dean's curt nod was all the direction Sam needed. This creature was going to die.

 

Sam's strides ate up the ground, as he wound faster and faster through the scattered trees around him, intent heavily within his mind. Within seconds, he caught up to the feminine looking witch.  She had gray and brown skin gnarled like the knots and grooves upon an ancient tree. The witch abruptly rounded upon him, bringing him up short as it began speaking to him. While the Russian seemed moderately familiar, there was a cadence and vocabulary choice that Sam didn't recognize. But he knew when a spell was being cast, and gripping the ash wood stake in his hand, he charged her hoping to get to her before she could finish speaking. Immediately Sam's world exploded in a burst of white pain, and he fell.  Fell hard upon his ass.  He was no longer holding the weapon, and his body hummed in what he could only catalogue as phantom pain from previously tortured nerve endings that were now quieting.  He blinked and realized his vision line was significantly lower, and the witch was racing away from him at an accelerated rate.  Sam went to push himself off of the ground, and quickly discovered that the amount of force he usually used to do so, was far too much and he tumbled over onto his side.  Flailing, he righted himself into a seated position, and then stared down in disbelief at his hands.

 

They were tiny; a child's hands. He looked next at his legs and feet, finding them to also be tiny.  Stunned by the realization, Sam looked around and saw that the trees closest to him were mere saplings. This was not good; this was very, very, **_very_** , not good. The trees were saplings and he was a _child_. Holy shit, he hadn't reached the witch before the final words of the spell!  His mind raced for logical purchases to grasp onto, but stopped because his physiological body and emotional mind were ramping up into a full panic. Sam abruptly felt driven to hysteria, now governed by the emotions of a two-year-old rather than those of a thirty-three-year-old man. Tears swelled within his hazel gaze, and Sam immediately began to loudly sob.  He felt alone, didn't know what to do, and he was afraid the situation would never change. No matter how much he attempted to calm down and think rationally, he merely wailed inconsolably seeing no logical solution to save him.

 

Suddenly, there was an adult voice above him. Sam continued crying, but softer now. Oh thank everything- it was Dean. But what if it wasn't Dean? What if it was another creature like the witch? What if it was a monster that wanted to eat him? Sam couldn't control himself now that the panic had latched on to him. Annoyed, he batted Dean's hand away. He didn't want to be eaten up whole. Sam hiccupped through his tears, as he was lifted into Dean's arms. The instant his nose pressed against the area of Dean's throat beneath the adam's apple, Sam instantly calmed. Dean's scent; he would know it anywhere. Dean meant safety, home, happiness and security. Everything was going to be okay now. Sam relaxed within Dean's arms, and was content to allow his brother to carry him through the woods. Chasing the witch, and being the victim of a spell, had left him a bit on the weary side. Sam closed his eyes and allowed Dean's stride to lull him to sleep. He was safe now and home.

 

~~~~~

Dean tossed the ash wood stakes into the weapons bin, and snagged a blanket out of the Impala's trunk. He opened the back door behind the passenger side, and arranged the blanket onto the backseat, then carefully laid Sam's warm and limp body upon it. The toddler sniffled a little and resituated himself slightly, as he was lain upon his stomach. Dean stroked the dark, chestnut highlighted, hair tenderly for a minute or so, making certain Sam was comfortable. He closed the door and moved around the hood to the driver's door, and got in the car. Dean adjusted the rearview mirror until he could see Sam's small form, his baby brother had a little fist pressed up against his mouth, and his eyes were closed. In a way, Dean was thankful he was sleepy as it would make the journey back to the motel less arduous for him. Dean turned the key in Baby's ignition, and found a radio station that played softer rock, and adjusted the volume to a low setting. He did a three point turn on the small dirt road, and headed back to the highway.  He divided his attention between the road ahead of him, and Sam's reflection in the backseat.

 

Sam was two years old again. While Dean knew he would have to find a counter spell to the one placed upon his little brother, there was a deeper, larger part of him, giddy with seeing Sam so young again.  He was an adorable child, and all Dean wanted to do was hold him on his lap, in his arms, and place kisses all over Sam's pudgy face. He wanted to blow raspberries upon his round, soft tummy, and tickle his little bare feet. The urge was so overwhelming, Dean had to force himself to take a deep breath and refocus his thoughts upon the tasks ahead. He mentally ticked off each necessary action item, working through the logistics one by one.  Yet as valiantly as he attempted to concentrate upon what he needed to do, his stolen glances in the rearview mirror made him ache with what he _wanted_ to do.

 

A half hour later, Dean was turning into the parking lot of the motor inn when he heard a bright chirp of, "De!" from the backseat. He checked the mirror and sure enough, Sam was awake, seated upon the blanket, his hair askew and his clothes a little rumpled from his nap. The summons brought a heartfelt smile to Dean's face, and he quickly parked the Impala.

 

"That's right Baby Boy. You have a good nap?" Sam didn't respond immediately, but gave a little cough instead. Dean's features slipped to concern as he became worried that perhaps Sam might be running a slight fever. The thought of Sam catching a cold or worse, made Dean's stomach turn over itself. He killed the engine, climbed out of the car, then opened the driver's passenger door, and reached out for the toddler.

 

"Come on Sammy."

 

Sam turned to look at Dean, then obediently crawled across the seat to his awaiting arms.  Dean snatched him up, making certain to place a hand at the back of Sam's head to protect it from hitting the frame of the door by mistake. He then shut the door and locked the Impala, before pocketing those keys and sifting through a jacket pocket for the motel key.

 

Sam placed his arms around Dean's neck and rested his chin upon Dean's right shoulder, looking out at the other cars in the lot as his brother carried him inside of their room. It was dark, and instinctively his arms tightened around Dean's neck, a slight jolt of fear buzzing through him until Dean turned on a light. He could have opened the curtains to let in the natural sunlight, however Dean felt compelled to keep Sam's transformation a secret for now, even to complete strangers.

 

"Okay Sammy. Sit right here for a minute okay?" Dean placed Sam on the edge of the first bed.

 

"'kay De." Sam responded looking around the room. Had he put his laptop in the closet, on the table or, under the bed? Sam turned and looked at the small dinette table and chairs, seeing there was no messenger bag either on a chair or on the table. The closet door had been closed, so Sam was about to hop off the mattress and look inside, when Dean crouched before him.

 

"Let's get your coat off." Dean said smiling broadly. He had removed his own coat and placed it on the back of one of the dinette chairs.  Sam's coat was so tiny and Dean found that he was fascinated by it. He searched through the pockets and found all of Sam's squirreled away tools and possessions he carried with him, including the extra motel key. Like his clothing and body, all of the items had shrunk as well. It was the smart phone that finally broke a laugh from Dean.

 

"Holy shit, it's so small." He chortled to himself in a higher register before putting it back in Sam's coat pocket.  Next he locked gazes with Sam. "So you wanna take more of a nap or go get something to eat first?"

 

Sam wildly shook his head and poked at Dean's chin with an extended finger. "Laptop." Was his insistent answer.

 

Dean sighed. Even a miniaturized Sam clung to his inner nerd. He gently took Sam's pointing hand into his own, and kissed the pudgy fist before broadening his smile. "I know what to do and who to call. S'just that right this second, you're a little Baby Boy and you need food and sleep just as badly as you do a cure."

 

Sam frowned and it tickled Dean until he noticed that Sam's hazel eyes were welling up with tears.  "I promise Sammy," Dean assured letting go of Sam's hand and placing his palms onto the toddler's shoulders. "Food, sleep and then research. It's okay. Don't cry."

 

Sam dropped his head forward, wishing that he didn't feel like crying again but he did. Maybe his shrunken size was humorous to Dean, but to Sam it was indeed a curse. He still knew the things he did earlier that day, but now he was two years old and quickly given over to fear and anxiety of a toddler interacting within the adult world.  His communication skills and coordination was impaired by his physiological youth, and he was profoundly frustrated by it.  Logically he feared that as time wore on his mind and body would revert back into a more infantile state, making him unable to assist in the search for a reversal spell. Sighing dejectedly, Sam raised his head and pouted looking into Dean's face.

 

"Aww, it's okay Sammy." Dean cooed, pulling him into a gentle hug. "We'll get everything figured out." He kissed the toddler's forehead and gave him a little squeeze. He held Sam for several seconds and peppered his head with kisses, before he pulled back and began removing the tiny boots from his little brother's feet. "You chill out and get some sleep while I do some research. Then we'll go get lunch okay?" Dean knew they would have to pick up a few items for Sam as well at a local grocery store.  "Lay down little dude."

 

Not in the least bit amused, Sam allowed himself to be placed more towards the center of the bed and down upon his back. He rolled immediately over onto his side, and endured a few more kisses and gentle hair stroking from Dean, before his brother left him alone. Sam's narrowed gold, green eyes shifted following Dean around the room. As promised, Dean got Sam's messenger bag out of the closet and set it up the laptop on the table. At least Dean appeared like he was going to do research, but Sam still held tightly to suspicion that it was all an act. Dean seemed a little too comfortable and pleased with Sam's predicament. What if he was going to pretend to search for information on the web, but actually watch porn instead? He was sneaky like that, and Dean did enjoy porn; but would he be tempted with a two-year-old Sam sleeping in a bed a few feet from him?  There was also the fact that Dean was liberal with his affections, when Sam was grown Dean barely patted his shoulder in approval let alone showered him with kisses and hugs.  Sam felt it prudent to assume that Dean wouldn't surrender the opportunity to be a father again easily. He was smiling all the time, touchy feely and therefore, he had to be reluctant to reverse the spell cast upon Sam. It would be just like Dean wanting Sam to remain a toddler and grow up once more.

 

Sam sulked for a few minutes thinking about how Dean was impeding his liberation from the curse, when sleep abruptly overcame him. His breathing grew deeper, and his eyes drifted shut, as he curled a little fist against his mouth. He was surprised when two hours later, Dean was rubbing his back gently and speaking his name softly to rouse him.

 

"Hey there Sammy. You hungry yet, Baby Boy?"

 

As a matter of fact, he was quite famished. He nodded and pushed himself up upon the mattress, and Dean picked him up and placed him in his lap.

 

"Let's get your shoes on then." Dean said as he combed out Sam's messy hair with his fingers, before reaching down and picking Sam's boots up off of the floor. "Gimmie your foot." Sam stopped squirming in Dean's lap and obeyed. "Nope, nope. The other one baby... There we go."

 

Sam set his gaze upon Dean's smiling features. Yes; Dean was enjoying Sam's dependency upon him far too much for his liking.  If Dean didn't have answers for them and soon, Sam was going to have to take matters into his own hands. He wondered if he could still read. What if he couldn't? Sam looked around the room for anything with writing on it and frowned; nothing. He would have to wait until they went outside to find out.  He endured Dean putting his little coat on him, and being carried to the Impala. He had feet and could walk on his own damn it, but Dean was refusing to put Sam down. Sam huffed a petulant sigh, and once more was relegated to the backseat. This time however he was anxious to stare out the windows and look for signs to read. Once Dean turned out of the motel parking lot and onto the main street, Sam's hope faltered. Scrambled letters holding only partial meanings and confusion met his gaze. The large neon signs on the building they had a room in was not readily recognizable, Sam's fears confirmed as more signs and word soup passed outside of the passenger windows. Sam placed his face in his pudgy hands and shook his head.

 

This wasn't happening to him. No; it resolutely was not!

 

On the way to lunch Dean made a quick stop at a supermarket to get a few items he felt Sam would need. Horrified, Sam realized that Dean was purchasing diapers. Oh, no, no, no-n-noooo this was bad. Adding insult to injury, Dean actually put one of the blasted, dignity vaporizing, atrocities on Sam, using the trunk of the Impala as a changing table, right in the middle of the parking lot! Sam was a sullen, cranky mess by the time they were back on the road. He sulked all the way to the diner, and was openly plotting revenge once the engine stopped and Dean opened the passenger back door to collect him. Once they reached the restaurant door, Sam had resigned himself to being carried into the building like the toddler he was. He was relieved when Dean refused the offer of a high chair, but mortified when he asked for a booster seat instead.  The booster seat was placed on the inside of the booth by the window, Dean filling the rest of the space.  The instant Sam's butt set upon the hard plastic of the blue monstrosity, his brow furrowed and he frowned. For the next ten minutes he engaged in a battle of wills with Dean regarding the usage of the child's seat, a war Sam won due to the growling of Dean's stomach, and the waitress wanting to place their order in the kitchen before her break.

 

Satisfied, Sam sat alongside of Dean and gazed up at him disapprovingly, until the mini sliders and fries’ kids’ platter was placed upon the table before him. He was also hungry and he stood up upon the seat supervising Dean, as he doctored the sliders with ketchup and mustard, set up the dipping sauce for the fries on the plate, and made certain the straw was poked through the plastic top of the kids’ cup, of chocolate milk for Sam to drink.  Sam took a few sips of milk and his grouse ridden features shifted towards happiness, as he allowed Dean to tuck a napkin into his shirt collar.  A few tentative bites of fries later, and Sam almost reconsidered utilizing the booster seat; almost.  He watched Dean tuck into his own burger, and wondered how his brother could chew while wearing a wide grin upon his face.

 

Dean couldn't stop smiling at him, and Sam found it a bit annoying.  Oh sure, _he_ was **_thrilled_** about the situation, but Sam was the one who had to live with the consequences and a pull up dipper for Christ’s sake.  If tables were reversed, Sam wouldn't be able to find the cure fast enough for a tantrum throwing, miniaturized version of his big brother. After lunch Dean had better get with the program and get some research done, or Sam was going to kick him in the shins until he relented.  Plan solidly formulated within his mind, Sam tucked into eating.  It wasn't long however, until he found himself seated on Dean's right thigh and being held as he ate. A compromise they both could live with, and one that brought unwelcome comments from another member of the wait staff.

 

Apparently, 'Dolores' was a new grandmother and she thought Dean was a sweet father, and Sam down right adorable. Sure, he was precious, and Dean couldn't help crowing about how freaking fantastic his 'kid' was. Sam would have glared if he hadn't been so distracted by his chocolate milk that was now out of his reach. His little arms were stretched as far as they could go and he squirmed, feeling Dean's arm tighten around his waist. A beat later the plastic cup was in his hands, and Dean didn't even have the decency to break eye contact with Dolores as he handed it to him. Was Dean actually looking at someone else's kids on the woman's phone? What the hell? Sam sighed disgruntled, and pulled on the straw, tugging delicious milk up it into his mouth.

 

Okay, so milk tasted better than it had to him in years, but still; that was not enough reason to celebrate being a toddler. The dipper was bulky, he couldn't read, and Dean insisted on carrying him everywhere. Not to mention, he had little to no control over his emotions that were pinging off his insides at a blinding rate. Everything was blurring into one large feel of confusion, and Sam was not happy about it one bit.  He leaned his head against Dean, and continued to drink his milk, when abruptly the well ran dry, and Sam whined and gazed helplessly up at Dolores. It was a long day and one that he was looking forward to putting it behind him. Hadn't growing up through childhood been tough enough for him the first time around?

 

Then abruptly Dolores asked if she could get Sam a refill, and magical blessings of blessings, Dean agreed. Sam surrendered his cup to her, and grinned up at his older sibling as Dolores walked away from their table. So, cuteness was indeed a powerful weapon, Sam duly noted it with a smirk.  He endured a few kisses from Dean, and clapped his hands when Dolores returned a few minutes later with his milk. Granted, this didn't erase all the indignities he was currently suffering, but it was a start. Twenty minutes later with a full bladder and heavy eyelids, Sam rested his head on Dean's shoulder as he was carried back to the waiting Impala. Sam closed his eyes just for an instant, and the next thing he knew he was waking up in the dim motel room. Had it all been a dream? A slight shift and the realization he was wearing a damp diaper brought him crashing back to reality with a disgusted wail of protest. Dean materialized as if out of nowhere, and rolled him upon his back to change his diaper, baby wipes and powder in hand.  Sam had endured enough. His little grunts of protest quickly escalated, as he rolled from one side to the other, twisting up his little body as Dean reached for his jeans.

 

"C'mon, Baby Boy." He urged gently. "It's not that bad. Hold still and I'll have you dry in a sec." Dean struggled with Sam's bicycling legs and twisting, in order to reach through the flailing tornado of limbs and unfasten Sam's jeans to get the them off. Annoyance grew, as the simplistic task became increasingly more complex, and he found himself uttering incomplete sentences of direction to his little brother.

 

"Sam, I mean it! Stop kic-" The impact of Sam's right heal to his chin had Dean biting down on the edge of his tongue hard enough to draw blood. The blossom of secondary pain had him hissing a curse, as his eyes flashed with anger. "Damn it, Sammy!" He yelled, and for a split second Sam froze in all movement, his green, blue eyes widening in surprise. The tremble of his bottom lip was subtle, but even through his haze of pain Dean knew exactly what was about to happen. Dean sighed softly, the sound drowned out by Sam's waterfall of tears, and he picked up the child from the bed. "It's okay, Baby Boy." He stood Sam up on his feet and embraced him. "I'm all right. Just let me get you changed now, huh?"  Sam's arms encircled Dean's neck, and he heard a snuffled whisper of _'De'_ in what he assumed to be apology.

 

Dean kissed Sam's cheek, and lay him back down upon the bed and his back. "S'all right Sammy. I know. This sucks." He commiserated, ignoring the pulsing pain of his chin and the sharp sting of his tongue. Sam lay still and allowed Dean to change him.  "See? Not so bad now that it's over right?" Dean wiped remnants of tears from his younger brother's face, and then rubbed his little belly. "So no more kicking okay?"

 

Sam nodded, his bottom lip pouting just a little further than before. The blue tinge to his iris's faded replaced by faded gold. Sam sniffed, and sat up, holding his arms out to Dean in placation. "De!" He insisted leaning towards his older sibling for a hug.

 

Dean's smile was blinding.

 

In the days that followed, Sam endured many indignities. Like having to wear pull ups, because he didn't have full bladder and rectal control. His body kept listing to one side when he ran, or moved abruptly, and he found coordinating the movements of his limbs with his intentions, was an ongoing battle. Sam was beginning to wonder if there was any correlation between his equilibrium impairment, and the fact that Dean carried him everywhere. He was also plagued by instantaneous mood swings. He went from content to terrified, furious, joyful or angry, within a hairs breath, and Dean merely laughed through it all. As if that weren't enough to contend with, there was a Tsunami of affection from his older brother that bordered on obsession. The kisses were as endless, as Dean's hugs, cuddles and smiles.  The most abhorrent was Dean's preoccupation with Sam's bare feet. Every bath, change of socks, and removal of shoes, was just an excuse for Dean to pepper the bottoms of his feet with kisses, gentle toe nips and tickling fingers. The worst was when Dean lost all self-control, and tried to fit an entire foot in his mouth. Sam's only defense was to kick at his insane brother with his other foot, and try to roll over onto his stomach to crawl to safety.  The foot obsession was embarrassing, it tickled like all heck, and Sam hated the feeling of drool pooling between his toes.

 

Sam had lost count of all the time he spent within Dean's arms, nestled against him, or sleeping on him. It just wasn't worth the expended energy, when all Sam truly needed was help breaking the ground witch's curse. He wondered if Dean had forgotten his vow to Sam after being inflicted with the terrible two's, but Dean had merely waited to take Sam somewhere safe and familiar; i.e. Bobby's place; to impart the hard truth to him. Dean had never taken a promise to his younger sibling lightly, and hushed cell phone conversations with Bobby after Sam's bed time, had indeed produced pay dirt.  Dean knew he should be the one to break the news to Sam, however he suspected that surrounded by Bobby's vast library of knowledge, and having the older male's gruff comforting presence, would help cushion the blow to Sam's situation.  Dean had purchased a car seat from a second hand baby goods store, and driven through the night to reach Sioux Falls South Dakota and Bobby Singer's salvage yard.  While Sam had been happy to see Bobby and ran up to hug him issuing excited chirps of "Bobby! Bobby! Bobby!", his enthusiasm plunged to stupefied grief when Dean revealed to Sam the parameters of the spell and Bobby confirmed the findings. Sam would not be released from toddler hood for a full lunar cycle, give or take a few weeks depending on the time of year and star alignment.

 

Sam's tantrum had been epic, causing Bobby to banish Dean and the screaming child into the basement panic room, until Sam's rage could be brought to a heel.  The shrieking and tears did nothing to smite the gentle smirk from Dean's lips, and he even had the audacity to chuckle when Sam beat his tiny fists down upon his older brother's chest in outrage.  Sam exhausted himself long before he realized that Dean was rocking him, and stroking his hair, humming softly to him, and rubbing small circles upon Sam's heated back. Sam hated being two years old and he hated Dean more for enjoying it.  Once he had exhausted his howls of displeasure, Dean carried Sam upstairs, and sat him on the kitchen counter by the sink. He wet a paper towel and gently wiped Sam's red, tear streaked cheeks.

 

"What are you two planning now?" Bobby asked, crossing the threshold into the kitchen.

 

Dean looked over his shoulder at the man. "Regroup here a few days, then, hit the road."

 

Bobby grunted as he watched Dean for a few silent seconds refresh the paper towel with cool water. Dean was surprisingly gentle with Sam; always had been; but now that he was reduced to a toddler, Dean's touch was even more careful.  The kid would make an excellent father, though in his heart he knew Dean would never have that opportunity. Happy endings just weren't in the cards for Hunters, and everyone accepted that unspoken fact.

 

"To where?"

 

Dean's grin blossomed, and he looked at Bobby once more. "Florida."

 

Bobby frowned. "I know you aren't taking that baby on a hunt, so what's in Florida that you're so interested in?"

 

Dean looked away from Bobby and into Sam's pudgy face, stroking the toddler's cheeks with his thumbs.  "Disney World." Dean revealed joyfully, trying to illicit interest from Sam. But blue green eyes were focused over Dean's shoulder, and the impact of Bobby's ball cap on the back of Dean's head silenced all questions from Dean. He cringed and turned, to grouse at Bobby as he raised a forearm to deflect further blows from the hard button upon the crown of the hat.

 

"What the hell kind of Idjit foolery is **_THAT_**? You can't take the baby to a theme park-"

 

"Why not?" demanded Dean seizing Sam off the counter top and carrying him out of the kitchen protectively, shielding him from Bobby with his own body. “It’s what they’re for!”

 

Bobby struck Dean one last time, before squaring the cap upon his head. “Because Sam isn’t any normal toddler! He’s a thirty-three-year-old man- “

 

“Who could use a break from the weight of the world just one damn time!” Dean silenced, cradling Sam to his chest. “Look at him Bobby, for once can’t he just be a kid and chase a few rainbows, pet a few puppies, and get his picture taken with freakin’ Mickey Mouse?” Dean stroked Sam’s back to calm himself rather than preempt any upset the exchange might be causing his little brother. “He doesn’t ask for single thing for himself, okay? He gives and gives, and never stops putting his ass on the line every damn day for strangers, just because that’s the type of man he is.  So while he’s stuck in pull ups, the very least I can do is make the next few weeks what I couldn’t make them the first time around!” Dean backed away from Bobby and into the living room. “Go ahead and yell all you want Grandpa, but I’m taking Sammy to Disney and that’s final!”

 

It wasn’t the unexpected title that brought Bobby up short, but Dean’s revelation that Sam deserved a better childhood than previously allowed.  All Dean had ever wanted to do was protect his little brother and give him a life as opposite of a Hunter’s as possible. Fate, his father and a world full of creatures, had worked against Dean from the very beginning and for the first time in ages the man’s eyes actually shown with hope. Bobby’s features softened as he recognized that Dean needed this for himself as much, if not more; than he required it for Sam’s wellbeing.

 

“Fine; no need to cry about it. Take the baby to Disney.”  Bobby pointed a finger of warning at Dean. “Just keep your eyes on him at all times and keep him slathered in sun screen. You don’t want him to get burnt.”

 

Incredulously Dean gaped at Bobby. “Like I would forget sunscreen, I’m not a monster Bobby!” Dean huffed and carried Sam towards the front door. “I’m taking him to the park now. Wanna come or- “

 

“No, no. You two go. I could use the quiet.” Bobby dismissed with a flippant wave of the hand. “Just be back before sunset. He’s had an emotional day.” Everyone in the house had come to think of it, but Dean ignored the dismissal and shifted Sam to his left hip within his arms.

 

“Come on Sammy. Let’s get you to the swings okay? Have some fun before dinner. What do ya say?”

 

“Yeah!” Sam chirped, encircling his little arms around his big brother’s neck. “Sliding too?”

 

“Sure Baby Boy, whatever you want.” Dean kissed him on the cheek and Sam issued a gentle smile before laying his head against Dean’s neck. Some time at the local park was just what both brothers needed.

~~~~

 

A few days later Dean's face was in a permanent flux of joy. His cheeks had long ago numbed from the pain of smiling so often during the day. He had always loved Sam, been protective of him, made his younger sibling the center of his world. However, Sam as a two, nearly three-year-old was ceaselessly adorable. For now, Dean couldn't imagine loving his little Sammy more than he did in this moment; the little cherub cheeked, floppy haired, wonder that was his Baby Boy until the seconds transformed into the next instant and Dean found himself in love all the more.

 

Currently Sam was strapped into the second hand car seat, positioned in the center of the back bench so that Dean could easily make eye contact with him in the rearview mirror. Sam's little feet were flapping as he rocked side to side, his little hands nearly fists as he bounced them to the music pouring out of the speakers.  Dean had found a collection of 1980's hair metal band songs at some road side gas n' sip and snatched it out of the bargain bin of eclectic clearance items. Currently Poison was bleating about good times and Sam was singing a tumble of noises that only partially ever resembled true words. Luckily the song was simple and repetitive so the littlest Winchester had no trouble following along with Dean and the band. Dean found himself lapsing out of the chorus as he watched Sam nod his head in near time to the beat. He was smiling, near perfectly aligned milk teeth flashing as he oft stopped singing long enough to giggle at the absurdity of the moment.

 

When the tape had finished playing for the third time around Dean felt his heart warm about to bursting when he heard Sam cheerfully chirp from the backseat, "De!"

 

"Yeah Baby Boy? What's the matter?"

 

"Queen. Play Queen!"

 

Dean considered this. "Are you sure you want-"

 

"De!" Sam snapped sharply pointing a chubby finger at Dean in protest. "Queen!"

 

"All right, all right. Don't get your Pampers in a bundle."  Dean could have sworn he heard a disgruntled, and adorable, snort from the backseat. "Here." He rooted around in the box of tapes beside him on the passenger side. "Freddy Mercury's gonna sing you some tunes."

 

Sam clapped his hands and laughed as 'You're My Best Friend' started midway through the first verse. It was going to be more difficult for him to sing as the lyrics were more elaborate and complicated, but Dean knew he was going to enjoy listening to his little Sammy try.  While they would have to stop soon for dinner for Sam and then bed, for now all Dean had to do was soak up all the cuteness that his little brother was providing in abundance.

 

For once life was good.

~~~~

The drive from South Dakota to Florida normally would take twenty-four to thirty hours to complete prior to the curse.  With toddler Sam it now took three days. By the time they had checked into a hotel near the sprawl of multiple theme parks, Dean didn’t mind paying a little extra for a nicer motel.  For them a Holiday Inn resembled five star accommodations.  Dean had wanted their trip to be memorable and he found the thought of letting Sam sleep in their accustomed squalor bothered him immensely.  The change of pace was just what the two of them needed and he wasn’t going to question his motives only to talk himself out of pampering his little brother.

 

Both brothers were looking forward to the Disney Character Breakfast that Dean had signed them up for when he purchased their tickets online.  Thankfully it would take place on the third day of their visit so they had plenty of time to acclimate to their surroundings and get some fun in.  Dean had promised to take Sam to one of the hotel pools for an afternoon of fun, having purchased sunscreen, inflatable rings for Sam’s biceps, Batman swim trunks and little Crocks to complete the ensemble.  He had bought himself an adult pair of Batman trunks because he wanted them and also to emulate his little brother.

 

Dean was having the time of his life doting on Sam.  For dinner he had ordered Sam dinosaur shaped chicken nuggets and steamed vegetables instead of the side of fries.  Sam was overjoyed at this change and ate all his veggies before anything else on his plate.  Dean had allowed Sam to drink his fill of chocolate milk and help him eat a piece of pie for dessert.  By the time they checked into the hotel and settled in, Sam was ready for a bath and bed.  Bath time was one of Dean’s favorite activities with his baby brother.  Sam loved the water hot and sat very still and closed his eyes when Dean washed his hair. He would lean into Dean’s touch and hum a little song that Dean had called, “Sammy’s Song” since his first childhood.  Sam had a very sensitive scalp and Dean loved scratching it with his nails and stroking it with his fingers. If Sam had been a cat he would have purred, but the human version was a little, melody-less song.  It varied with Sam’s mood, but he hummed it just the same and Dean had forgotten how much he had loved hearing it.

 

He knew that once the curse lifted and Sam was back to his thirty-three-year-old self that he would lose the intimacy of bathing Sam and hearing his song.  He knew that when Sam washed his own hair he hummed to himself, but it wasn’t the same as when Dean had been in charge of that bit of hygiene.  The song had always been a little louder and spaced with little sighs of joy.  He was also going to miss washing Sam’s little feet. He loved to tickle them and get the soap in between the tiny, pudgy digits.  He loved the roundness of Sam’s little belly and the cherub like cheeks of both his face and behind.  Sam was an adorable child and Dean was going to make the most of every opportunity to indulge them both in a second childhood.  It was difficult for him to think of the witch’s spell as a curse, when rather it was a gift.  He knew that eventually they would have to hunt her down, but secretly Dean knew he would always be grateful to her for allowing him to see Sam as a happy toddler once again.

 

He smelled so damned good to Dean that it brought tears to his eyes when he lay awake just smelling his brother.  He cradled Sam to his chest and stroked Sam’s hair and smelled his skin and scalp.  He wanted to re-sear the memory deep into his sensory data banks to call upon in times when he was losing heart.  Sam was why Dean fought the monsters; Sam was why Dean was capable of love and compassion; Sam was the reason why Dean struggled so damned hard every day to live.  Sam was Dean’s everything and he would let the world burn to ashes if he ever lost his center; his Baby Boy Sammy.

 

Dean lay with Sam until the little boy fell asleep, whispering to him about what they would do and see the following day. He stroked Sam’s still damp hair and rubbed his fully belly.  He even sang Sam the lullaby he had learned from Mary, which in actuality was just a Beatles song.  The tune had its desired affect and soon Sam’s breathing was slower and deeper and Dean refused to let Sam go.  He was too excited to sleep just yet but he concentrated on Sam’s breathing and soon his matched that of his little brother.  Coming to Disney World was in fact a stroke of genius on Dean’s part, and his smart phone memory was about to be flooded with pictures of toddler Sammy smiling and giggling with pure joy as only a child could.

 

Sam and been quite insistent that Dean rent a stroller from the park.  Initially Dean had resisted, knowing that he loved holding Sam on his hip, or back; while Sam sometimes asked to walk, holding Dean’s hand as he strode beside him.  But there was a back pack full of sunscreen, snacks, PediaSure, diapers, baby wipes, water and various other sundries that Sam now required at a moment’s notice. Shouldering that, along with Sam, in the Florida humidity and heat, coupled with the boredom of standing in long lines were certain to wear Dean out in no time.  By late afternoon the stroller was a life saver as Sam dozed in the provided shade of its top while Dean plotted out their next set of activities sitting on a shaded bench that wasn’t in a high traffic area. He sipped on water and reapplied some sunscreen, deciding to lather up Sam once more after his short nap.

 

Dean had countless photos, having to upload them to a cloud source to make room for more. His current favorite was from earlier in the morning just after entering the park and renting the stroller.  Sam had his little balled fists on his hips, a very determined pressed lipped expression, as he glared up at Dean.  He had just finished insisting in an authoritative tone, “De! We need a stroller. Stroller!” emphasizing his demand by pointing a finger at the parking area for the rentals, finalizing everything by the fists on hip pose. Even at two years old Sam was a bossy little know it all. Dean still wasn’t certain how he didn’t break with laughter every time his baby Sammy insisted things in a very adult and practical way.  It wasn’t fair just how cute his little dude was, with cherub cheeks, dimples for miles, straight, white milk teeth and sparkling hazel eyes that crinkled at the corners when he laughed. Dean had never loved anyone or anything more than he loved Sam, and he accepted that he never would.

 

Following the photo opportunity Dean had squatted down in front of his Baby Boy and said, “Kisses.”  Sam sighed as if put upon and unclenched his fists. Tiny hands slapped down lightly upon Dean’s cheeks as Sam kissed his mouth and face with noisy little, peck kisses.  Dean returned each and every one ending with a dramatic loud smack before thanking Sam and releasing him from his obligation of kisses. Sam withdrew his hands and quietly said, “Stroller. De, _please_.” And who could deny Sam anything when asked so longingly? Certainly not Dean Winchester.

 

Dean looked up from the park map and peered down at Sam, gently taking his sippy cup from him and putting it on the bench alongside himself. Kisses, had become an avid habit between him and Sam since the Ground Witch had cast her spell.  Dean shook the sippy cup to test its content level. He needed to add some water to it and knocked over the sun screen onto the ground beside the stroller as he moved the back pack to bring it closer to him.  Sam didn’t even start, able to relax fully as a child as he never could now in adulthood.  The slightest shift would have thirty-three-year-old Sam jolting up right with knife in hand.  Dean felt himself filled with gratitude that even the noise of the park and pedestrians and cacophony of sounds surrounding him didn’t disturb Sam from his nap.  Dean snatched up the sunscreen bottle and put it in the back pack before fishing for the water bottle; he settled on a half full PediaSure bottle instead.  He had joked that it was ‘toddler Gatorade’, to which Sam had stuck his tongue out at him and grabbed at the bottle for a taste test. Dean tried the drink after Sam had, and when he handed back his little brother’s sippy cup they both had belched at one another in unison. Sam giggled first and Dean quickly followed suit, yet another memory Dean was cataloging in his memory banks.

~~~~

Dean had noticed the clown twenty minutes’ prior, but it had been outside of the fence that surrounded the pool area. There had been a small crowd gathered around it as the person made balloon creations for the younger guests, and a costumed Dumbo signed autographs and posed for pictures.  The threat was far enough away that Dean judged it static and continued to play with Sam in the pool.  He had just placed Sam on the concrete outside of the pool and directed him to their deck chair a few feet away, and awaiting towels.  He was in the midst of climbing out of the water himself, when the unmistakable shriek of terror pierced his eardrums and catapulted him into instant battle mode.

 

“ _Deeeeeeeeee_!” Sam was red faced, tiny legs propelling him unsteadily forward in the direction of the pool, and the only safety he had ever known; his big brother’s arms.

 

Dean snatched up a shivering, crying Sammy and clutched him to his chest as a bewildered clown looked apologetically at Dean and shrugged. Dean glared daggers into the man, and only because a few children had gathered around the shocked clown, did he not explode in a tirade of death threats at the offending man.  Instead, he mouthed ‘fuck off’ at the clown when their eyes met. The clown wisely made a hasty retreat away from Dean and encouraged the other children to follow him.  A few parents nearby turned their gazes back to their own business, as Dean stroked a hand down the back of Sam’s head and whispered to him that it was ‘alright’.

 

He walked to their deck chair where a passing father held out a single, yellow, Crock to Dean. He offered a quiet, “He lost his shoe,” before relinquishing said shoe into Dean’s hand.  Dean thanked the man gruffly, but with sincerity, and picked up a towel to swaddle Sam in.

 

“It’s okay, Baby Boy.” Dean assured him as he sat down on the chair and placed the shoe next to him. “We’re okay now.”

 

“De! It was a _clown_!” Sam all but wailed helplessly up at his brother’s face.

 

“I know. And I took care of him. He’s gone.” Dean rubbed the towel over Sam’s back. “See?” He pointed to the clown across the pool from them that was about to exit the surrounding deck line.  “I won’t let him come back. I got you.”

 

Sam hugged Dean tightly and buried his face in the hollow of his throat. “Okay, De.” He whispered against his brother’s skin, all of his trust placed in Dean’s assurances of safety.

 

Dean kissed the top of Sam’s head and cradled him gently to him.  He knew it wouldn’t take long to calm Sam down fully, and perhaps they could enjoy the pool for a while longer.

 

The rest of their vacation was devoid of further incident from errant clowns or otherwise.  Sam was delighted with each new day and activity, ready to be cuddled and kissed at a seconds’ notice, and bubbling with laughter and dimpled smiles.  There were no tantrums nor storms, and Dean could not be more proud or happy with his younger sibling.  He even extended their Disney vacation another three days before finally embarking upon the return drive to Bobby’s.  After a few days visit with their surrogate father/grandfather, Dean took Sam on the road once more. This time towards Louisiana and Sam’s favorite city New Orleans.  He figured that he would get them a motel and wait out the ending of the spell, sightseeing during daylight hours.

 

The curse ended five days following their arrival.

 

Dean had gone to bed with a clean, well fed, played with, and satisfied toddler upon his chest, and awoken deep in the early morning hours, with a six-foot-five man rolling quickly off of him and thrashing about in pain.  Dean was up in an instant and reaching out to soothe Sam, who had flailed himself off of the mattress and onto the floor.  Dean knelt beside him and helped him regulate his breathing and mildly restrained his twisting limbs.  Once the transformation had completed he stroked Sam’s hair gently and felt the huff of Sam’s breath upon his throat.

 

“S’okay, Sammy. I got you.” He reassured repeatedly until Sam’s huffs slowed to gentle breaths.

 

Sam embraced his older brother and hugged him tightly.  “Thank you, De.”

 

His words ghosted across Dean’s flesh and Dean closed his eyes, angrily pushing the unshed tears back defiantly.  He wouldn’t cry; it was stupid to miss his little Baby Boy. After all, he was holding him wasn’t he? A grown version yes; but one that was his best friend and partner in all things.  Older Sam was better for their circumstances, so why did he feel so bereft?  After several minutes, Dean patted Sam’s back and severed the embrace, helping Sam to his feet.  He stifled a laugh and motioned to the enlarged Scooby Doo pajamas his little brother was wearing.

 

“Nice onesie.” He teased, causing Sam to look down at his chest and belly.

 

Sam snorted and shrugged meeting Dean’s gaze in the dim light of the room.  “You bought them.”

 

Dean nodded. “How’s the pull ups feel?”

 

“Shut up.” Sam hushed moving past Dean into the bathroom.  “Do me a favor and get my duffle outta the car for me, will you please?”

 

Dean immediately pulled on his jeans and reached for his boots, car keys, and forty-five. “Lock up after me?”

 

Sam frowned.  “You won’t be long. I’ll close the bathroom door.” Another burrier would be protection enough. Dean shrugged and headed for the motel room door.

 

Upon popping Baby’s trunk, Dean rested his hands on the trunk lip and closed his eyes.  The spell was broken and he should feel jubilant, but all he could see was what he had lost with Sam’s transformation back into adulthood. Pinching the bridge of his nose and squeezing his eyes tightly shut, he internally berated himself and lowered his hand. Opening his eyes, he located Sam’s duffle and yanked it out of the trunk.  Soon enough he would pack up the Batman backpack and all of Sam’s tiny clothes, banishing them to a corner of the trunk before they could deposit them at the nearest thrift store, along with the useless car seat upon the back bench.  Dean slammed the trunk closed much more forcefully than he had intended, and stomped back to the room door.

 

In the bathroom, Sam flipped on the yellow toned lights and stared at his reflection in the mirror once his eyes adjusted.  He touched his face, reassuring himself that he was once more thirty-three-years-old.  He looked well rested, not haunted and hopeless as he had prior to the witch’s curse.  Aside from the raising of his spirits and cartoon pajamas, he was himself again.  At least externally.

 

Sam had vivid memories of his time as a toddler and Dean’s care of him.  He had adored their intimacy, how Dean had been ready to touch him because he could, and how easily they had interacted with one another.  There had been no omissions of facts; no mistrust; no ground down emotions and only love.  Sam had been happy; truly happy; and he had Dean to thank for that.  Sam swallowed and pulled the pajama top off over his head.  It was going to feel good not having to wear pull ups any longer, being able to read, and have his body obey him, and control of his emotions.  The room had only one bed, so at least for tonight they would have to share sleeping space, and for that Sam was relieved. He wasn’t certain if he was prepared to sleep the night devoid of Dean’s warmth and body curled securely around him.  All he wanted to do was press his face up into Dean’s neck and go back to sleep.  How quickly the two brothers had fallen into habit with one another.  Sam smiled tenderly at the memory and reached for the waist area of his pajama bottoms, along with that of the pull up.  He heard the motel room door open on the opposite side of the bathroom door, and he called to his brother, who answered gruffly in response.  Sam cracked the door enough to allow Dean to hand him his duffle, leaving it ajar as he dressed in a tee shirt and boxers.

 

He returned to the room to find that Dean had divested himself of his boots and jeans, and was seated upon the mattress once more.  “Do I still have to sleep furthest from the door?” He teased knowing damn well he had too.  Dean just glared at him and swung his legs onto the bed and lay back. Sam navigated around the end of the bed to the opposite side of the mattress and pulled back the covers. Once he was in bed, Dean turned off the bedside light and settled down, his back to Sam.

 

“Hey, De?”

 

“Yeah, Sammy?”

 

“Can we sleep like we usually do, tonight? At least with my head on your chest?”

 

Without a word, Dean rolled over onto his back and reached out with an arm to pull Sam close. Sam immediately pressed his body against his brother’s and pushed his face up into the length of Dean’s throat.  Dean closed his eyes and embraced Sam, quickly falling asleep.  He didn’t want to think about how much he would miss this when the sun rose and Sam went back to his previous routine.

 

He didn’t want to think of that at all.

~~~~

Well after sunrise Dean stirred, used to being awoke by chubby little hands framing his face, and a cute chirp of his name, before kisses were peppered upon the non-stubble darkened flesh of his face.  Upon opening his eyes, Dean realized he was alone in bed and sat up looking around the room.  The bathroom door was wide open, the light off, and Dean could now see Sam’s duffle upon the dresser in the room. He realized that Sam must have gone for a run.  Groaning, and cartilage popping with every movement, Dean pulled himself out of bed and headed to the bathroom to attend to his own needs.

 

Sam wasn’t a toddler anymore.  He was an adult, with adult thoughts, capabilities, secrets and deep seeded anger.  It wasn’t like their childhoods had been stellar; they had been neglected, motherless and dragged around the United States by an emotionally absent father.  They were left to their own devices, to each other to raise, and Dean had done the very best he could to cultivate grace and compassion within Sam, but he also recognized that he had been just a boy himself at the time.  How Sam had turned out to be the incredibly, wonderful, beautiful man he had matured into, Dean could not understand, yet was immensely grateful for.  It didn’t matter how, only that he was.  That had been enough; until now.

 

The witch’s curse had permitted Dean to break open carefully encased defenses, and bring too light long buried fantasies.  A second chance at raising Sam had served to nurture his dream of becoming a father one day.  It was a reckless dream, unobtainable within the confines of his current life, but one that he had clung too foolishly.  It surprised him how quickly the feelings had surfaced within him the instant he had laid eyes upon a helpless, toddler Sam in the woods over two months prior.  It had been second nature to care for Sam, and it had been the happiest he remembered being in years.  Now he felt like a complete idiot; bitter at the knowledge that he needed to suppress the desire to be a father that he remembered from echoes of his earliest childhood.  Longing for such a life impossibly out of his reach, was far more destructive than anything he had ever endured before. Contain; bury; forget: that was the only way to make it through now.  It was his only means to serve Sam and the life they had been born too.  Contain; bury; forget.  This was the Dean Winchester way.

 

Yet the weight of it was soul crushing.

 

The run was doing much to clear Sam’s head, but not his heart.  Dean had the makings of an excellent, involved, and strong father figure.  Sam had always looked up to him more than just an older brother, he was not blind and knew who raised him, and that was Dean. Dean provided Sam with everything he needed from basic needs to an abundance of love and affection.  He was more than a brother, more than a father, more than a best friend; he was in a word Sam’s **_everything_**.  There was no sacrifice he could make that would ever repay the enormity of what that status meant to him.  Dean was the reason Sam lived, the reason he fought the monsters, the reason he didn’t turn his back on hunting and live as a ‘civilian’. Dean didn’t raise him to idly sit by and watch life happen; he reared Sam with a fierce desire to shape life. But all his success, achievements, special moments meant nothing if they were not connected in some way to Dean.  All of his good memories; and some of the worst; involved Dean through and through.

Sam realized that Dean being allowed to fill the role of father in his life was not what he mourned, but rather the loss of easy physical affection and contact the two had shared.  Dean touched him whenever the mood struck him, kissed him, held him, slept curled around him protectively or acted as a human pillow for him.  He tickled him, played with him, adored him and made Sam feel so profoundly safe that he was able to just be Sammy Winchester: not Sam ‘ _fucking’_ Winchester, force to be reckoned with and hunter. Or Dean ‘ _badass mother fucker’_ Winchester’s partner in all things.  The sense of security was intricately twined with the physical affection Dean dotted upon him.  He wasn’t ready to surrender that tactile connection.  He hadn’t realized how starved he had been for it until the spell had been cast and Dean scooped him up in his protective embrace.  Sam needed Dean to touch him, and it was apparent that Dean required Sam’s touch in turn.  The unspoken tacit threads that bound them together, stretched beyond that of brother to brother; Sam had been in love with Dean since the age of eleven when he could conceptualize what romantic love was.  Whenever he envisioned a mate, it was Dean by his side. Whenever he thought about the future, or home and family, it was Dean he pictured standing with him until death.  Dean was the reason Sam couldn’t form lasting attachments; sure Jess he had wanted to marry, but the moment Dean showed up that possibility evaporated.  He would sever any tie, drop any relationship, change the course of his life in a heartbeat if Dean willed it.  There was never any question he would follow Dean down the Hunter’s path.  Dean had asked Sam to help him locate their missing father, but it was clear that Dean was really asking for Sam to ‘come home’.  Home was crossing the lower forty-eight in Baby, and being with Dean twenty-four-seven.  Nothing else could sustain him, and Sam knew now that they needed to reignite their physical closeness.  It healed them both and lord only knew how much damage they carried inside their skin.

By the time Sam arrived back at the motel, Dean was dressed and ready for breakfast. Sam showered quickly and dressed, the two of them leaving the room in silence. Dean stored their duffels in the trunk and parked at the first dinner Sam didn’t wrinkle his nose at.  There was an awkward exchange with the waitress when Dean ordered for Sam and asked for chocolate milk. He cringed and uttered a quick, ‘sorry’ before Sam changed the order with a smile.  Once the waitress left to get their coffees Sam addressed Dean across the table.

 

“It’s alright you know, Dean.” Dean stared blankly at him awaiting Sam to further explain.  “Habit, or missing being the parental figure-”

 

“It’s not like that.” Dean sneered, pushing his water glass a little with a finger to make it hydroplane over the ring of water beneath it on the table surface.  “Forget it. I’m just glad you’re back and we can hunt again.” He cleared his throat and started mentioning a few cases he had researched that morning and Sam frowned.

 

“Dean, I don’t think we should just jump back in right away. I think we should take a few days and reevaluate. It’s been what? Almost three months since either of us has hunted? Shouldn’t we just take a minute and- “

 

“No.” Silenced Dean abruptly.  “We’re pros, Sammy. We know our business and we’re ready. Ninety days isn’t that long, and there’s been plenty of big bads that slipped through while we were sidelined. Not to mention, we didn’t even kill that witch that zapped you.”

 

Sam pulled his lips into his mouth at that thought.  “I know, but Dean- “

 

“I don’t want to talk about this right now.” Dean stated looking for the waitress in vain hoping that she had their coffees by now.  “Let’s just have breakfast and hit the road, okay?”

 

Sam nodded and looked out the window into the parking lot. This was not going to be easy, but then again when was anything ever easy between them? Oh yeah, when Sam was a little kid and Dean was the doting father, that’s when.

 

By the time they stopped for lunch in route to a hunt Sam had no desire to be on, Dean’s pensive silence was unbearable.  They got some fast food and stopped at a meager rest stop off an access road to eat.  There were two picnic tables, both made out of concrete and a single occupant toilet for either gender.  The addition of two empty vending machines finished off the amenities and Sam looked across the table slab at his sibling.

 

“Dean, we need to talk about this.”  Dean ignored him with the exception of narrowing his features in displeasure.  “I’ve been analyzing what’s happened to us, and between us, the past few weeks and- “Sam paused and watched as Dean stopped eating and wiped his hands upon a napkin.  “I realized that I wasn’t mourning being a child again, but the intimacy you and I shared. The way you were with me, how much you held me, kissed me, took care of me; everything.  I love that Dean. I’ve **_missed_** that.  When I was tweleve you really started pulling away from me in the literal sense. There were a few slaps on the back, or the occasional arm around my shoulder, but all the kisses, hugs and cuddling ceased. I don’t know if that’s because Dad told you quit, or if it was something you just naturally did on you own. But it hurt; then and now.”

 

Sam took a deep breath and smiled softly as he noticed Dean’s gaze slowly shift up to seek his own.  “Dad then; that’s what I thought.” He sighed and reached across the table with both hands and grasped Dean’s within his own.  “The witch’s curse brought us together again.  It’s just the two of us now, and I don’t want to stop being intimate with you like that.  I want to hug you whenever the feeling strikes me. I want to kiss you goodnight or hell; even sleep in the same bed as you.  If we can cuddle watching TV, then why can’t we intertwine other times as well?”

 

Sam stared Dean’s features for several silent seconds before venturing further with his thoughts, holding nothing back from his sibling.  “I’m tired of pretending, De. Forcing myself not to tell you how much I love you, or that I belong to you in ways you haven’t ever explored.  I don’t want to hide it anymore; I’m in love with you and I want us to be every bit of a couple as anyone else has the right to be. I need you, Dean; I’ve always loved you and I always will.”

 

Dean swallowed, a hard lump of emotion nearly strangling him as he did so.  He searched Sam’s hazel eyes, bright with gold and green which; in his opinion; were when they were at their most beautiful.

 

“I pushed away,” He paused and cleared his throat to steady the tremor in his voice.  “because Dad told me I was too soft on you; and the way I was with you was, _sick_.” Dean squeezed their union of hands tighter together.  “You were eleven when everything changed in my head. You went from my baby brother to; to the only person I’ll ever love. I was afraid that if I didn’t distance myself that Dad would send you to live with Bobby, or that I would do something stupid and attack you. I never wanted to hurt you, or force you to be sexualized faster than you were supposed to.”

 

“I know you would never hurt me Dean. And by twelve years old I was ready for you.”

 

“Don’t.” Pleaded Dean closing his eyes. “I can’t change the past.” He took a visible breath and opened his eyes to rest them upon Sam’s loving features. “All I can do is give you what we both need now.  So if you’ll have me…”

 

Sam’s grin built slow and then burst across his face, his dimples showing, and eyes shining. He rose up from the table, dragging Dean up in his wake, and within seconds was hugging his older sibling in a bone crushing embrace.  After a minute or so of holding one another, Sam withdrew and placed his palms on either side of Dean’s face, gaze bright and misting with joyful tears.

 

“Kisses.” He whispered.

 

Dean leaned forward for their lips to touch, the kiss in no way innocent like it’s predecessors. Mouths opened and tongues twisted over and around one another in famished heat.  Dean felt his heart lighten and he no longer felt the weight of doom upon his shoulders, or within his chest crushing his heart.  Sam; his Sammy; his everything was his once and for all, in every way possible.

 

And Dean was Sam’s.


End file.
